


A cruel, but a great Game

by stilesstilerstyle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, The Great Game, kidnapping John, what happened to John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:59:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilesstilerstyle/pseuds/stilesstilerstyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in 'The great Game', when John gets kidnapped by Moriarty for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A cruel, but a great Game

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I always wondered about, what happened to John when Moriarty took him.   
> I looked for someone who had written this, but I couldn't find anyone, so I had to do it myself. Now I hope that it can bring some pleasure to the ones who wanted to know. I hope I did a good job. :)   
> Let me know what you think, it would really be appreciated, criticism as much as compliments. ^^  
> Now enjoy. :D

John jogged down the stairs.

He knew Sherlock had said that he would get the milk, but John also knew that Sherlock wouldn’t move his arse unless a certain Moriarty asked him to. He shook his head as he went outside, closing the door behind himself. He wasn’t going to do Sherlock the satisfaction of seeing that John bought milk, even though Sherlock had said he would do so.

John was lost in thought, walking down the street, his feet knew the way to Sarah’s place. He looked down onto his feet as he walked. The street lamps were giving him just enough light, so he could see them.

He took the short cut through the alley he had discovered shortly after starting dating Sarah, it took about five minutes off from the time it would normally take. He heard his own footsteps hall back from the brick walls.

At first everything seemed normal, until it seemed that the sound of his footsteps had doubled. He frowned, slowing down, listening closer.

He pricked up his ears and there really seemed to be another pair of footsteps behind him. They stopped shortly after his.

He tried to tell himself that it was only a hobo, nothing serious. Slowly he turned around, to see a tall figure against the bright light of the street lamps which were shining into the dark alley.

He took a deep breath and then shouted: “Can I help you?”

The figure didn’t move and John narrowed his eyes and gestured with his hands: “Who are you?” Still there was no reaction.

He decided not to give the person any further attention and to just make his way as quickly as he could towards Sarah’s apartment. He turned the corner when he bumped into someone.

He mumbled a ‘sorry’ under his breath, trying to get past whoever it had been he had just bumped into, when a skinny hand gripped his upper arm.

John abruptly turned back, first looking at the hand gripping his arm tightly then up to the face he couldn’t see clearly, it lay in shadow. He tried to wrench free, but the hand only gripped tighter.

“Let go!” John was starting to panic, first the peculiar figure and now this.

Then he heard a voice, it was soft but firm. “Now now Johnny boy. Is this how to treat strangers?”

A shudder went down John’s spine. He had heard the voice before and the man knew his name, but he couldn’t place him. John’s eyes were wide as he tried once more to break away, only to stumble back into another man, who immediately gripped both of his arms tightly. His struggles were futile. John stared at the man in front of him, still not being able to see the man’s face. He could see the skinny hands swinging at the man’s sides; he was wearing a suit, expensive.

“What do you want and who are you?” John could hear his voice trembling.

“Don’t you remember me?” Then the man stepped into the light. “How about now?”

John’s mouth fell open.  Then he narrowed his eyes at the man. “Jim? What… what are you doing here?”

A sickening smile spread across the young man’s face.

John’s mind was racing. Something was definitely off here, the gay boyfriend of the female coroner was smiling at him, while he was being held by some goon.

“You remember.” Jim stepped closer, so that he was only a few inches away from John. John tried to back off, but found himself pinned to another man’s chest.

He felt how his breathing was getting laboured. What was going on?

“Of course I remember you, you’re the boyfriend of Molly Hooper. What is this about?” With his arms pinned to his sides, he nervously flexed his fingers. If only he had his gun.

John startled when Jim suddenly started to laugh.   
He had dark eyes and his white teeth were glistening in the dim light.

Abruptly the laughter stopped. “Well, not anymore, she broke it off, after Sherlock told her that I was gay.”

John sank into the arms of his captor. He slowly started shaking his head. Please don’t tell me this is about Sherlock Holmes.”

The smile of the man before him grew wider again, he lifted his hand, and John pressed his eyes shut, when he felt the hand trailing over his cheek.

The hand left his face and was replaced by hot breath, making John’s skin crawl.

He heard Jim whisper: “Of course it is.”

John felt how the warmth left his skin and he slowly dared open his eyes again. Jim stood there, a very serious look on his face. He tilted his head to the side studying John intently. John’s heart was racing.

Finally he spoke again: “Let me introduce myself, John. My name is Jim Moriarty.”

When John heard that name, his breath hitched, his eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. This would explain a lot that was happening.

The dark eyes of the mad man drank in John’s fear, roaming over John’s heaving chest and he nodded.

“Yeah. You should be afraid.” Then he looked past John, presumably at the man who was holding him, and indicated with his head to the side.

John was too dumbstruck to say anything, he couldn’t even scream. His heart was racing, and so was his mind. Thinking of Sherlock and what was going to happen next. Then John was dragged down the alley towards a dark car, it looked expensive, just like Moriarty’s suit.

John was trying to resist, pushing his heels into the ground, trying to get some leverage, but the man who was manhandling him was definitely on the winning side. John was pushed, much to his surprise not into the boot, but into the backseat of the car. He turned around, hoping for a way of escape, but Moriarty had already sat down beside him, pulling the door closed.

John was staring at the dark haired man, fear filling every fibre of his being. He was not restrained in any way, yet he had never felt so restricted in his life, than in that moment.

Moriarty had taken out his phone, not giving any attention to John. The car had started to move underneath them.

Jim smirked, as he read something that was written on the screen of his phone. He turned his head to John, smiling almost compassionate. He seemed excited.

“Mr Holmes wants to meet me. Tonight. Won’t that be a surprise when he gets to see you.” He chuckled.

John was frozen, Sherlock wanted to meet this madman, this killer, this monster? He was still having trouble believing, that this was the man who had strapped several people to bombs, threatening their lives and those around them, even a child, and had not stopped at that, but had actually killed people.

John sat there, unmoving, staring at the man beside him. He wished he hadn’t left the apartment.

He folded his hands in his lap, kneading them.

Finally he dared raise his voice again: “What are you going to do to me?”

John looked at the man, as his head turned to him, studying him once more, he looked almost disinterested. He turned his head back to look at his smartphone and said in a low voice: “It’s a surprise.”

Jim was smiling at his phone. John didn’t know what else to say. So he turned to look out the window, which soon turned out to be unnecessary, since it was tinted and he couldn’t see anything. He glanced over at the skinny man in the Westwood suit. He didn’t seem all to strong. He could take him if he wanted to. But was that a good idea, or would that just make things worse? He decided to see where their journey was going when he suddenly remembered his own phone in his pocket. How didn’t he think of that sooner?

Just as if Moriarty had read his mind he reached out his hand and said: “Don’t you dare. You are not going to spoil the surprise. Give it to me.”

John sighed heavily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, he managed to check the time before the phone was snatched from his hands. It was just after nine.

For the rest of the drive Moriarty ignored him.

John couldn’t help but think about how to get away. When the car stopped, he would hit the mad man in the face and make a run for it.

They seemed to drive for about ten minutes when the car finally slowed down, coming to a stop. Moriarty put his hand on the door handle and pushed the door open. Now would be his only and probably last chance. As soon as Jim was out, John jumped out after him, ready to strike him, when his eyes fell on two men, who were standing behind Moriarty. Jim looked at John, once again he seemed to know what he had intended to do.

John swallowed emptily, balling his hands into fists.

“Tsk tsk tsk Johnny boy.” Jim looked at him with a serious look on his face and he looked almost disappointed. “And I thought I could trust you.” His dark eyes roamed over John’s body once more, before he indicated the two men to grab John.

John knew it wouldn’t help to fight, so he just let them lead him to wherever their destination was.

He had no idea where they were; he didn’t recognize the building as he looked around.

They walked inside, he heard Moriarty’s feet clacking behind them. He was led through corridors; the building was definitely not one of the newest, but well enough intact.

Finally they came to a room, and he was led inside, and then firmly placed onto a chair.

Moriarty strolled in after them, his hands deep in his pockets. His eyes didn’t leave John’s as he told his helpers to tie him up.

His hands were wrenched back and he felt how rope was tied tightly around his wrists.

Even as the rope dug into his skin, he didn’t flinch holding the stare of Moriarty. This seemed to amuse him.

“Look at you all brave.” He chuckled as John’s ankles were being secured to the legs of the iron chair.

“So stoic. I wanted to apologize about the rope, knowing you military background and all, you might be able to slip those somehow.” After John was tightly bound, he could barely wriggle, the men left the room without an order.

The door closed behind them, and John was now alone with the madman who had killed so many people, and traumatized even more.

John knew he looked all calm and preserved on the outside, but inside he was raging. He needed to warn Sherlock, or he would walk right into the trap.

He stared back into those black eyes. John wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught a glimpse of curiosity.

John lowered his gaze and took a deep breath: “What do you want from Sherlock?”

Moriarty grinned.

“Oh you know. Play a game.” Moriarty had started to walk around in front of him.

John narrowed his eyes. “This is a game to you?” John felt how his fear was replaced by anger.

“Yeah. You know, it gets lonely as a criminal genius after some time, you need to find yourself a hobby, something to spend your free time doing. And I like playing games.” He had stopped walking just in front of John. He bent down, his hands behind his back, getting very close to John’s face.

John wasn’t sure if he’d just seen right, but he thought that he had just seen Moriarty wrinkle his nose, as if sniffing.

Jim then narrowed his eyes at John. He took a moment and John wasn’t sure what to do or say, so he just stayed silent, not moving.

After a while Moriarty spoke. He almost sounded disgusted, but what made John’s skin crawl even more, was that he sounded jealous.

“What does he see in you? You’re so ordinary.”

He stood back up, looking down on John. “I have been watching you, you know, but I can’t put my finger on why he would waste his time with you.”

He started pacing again.

John’s eyes were fixed on the expensive shoes, which were hitting the floor with every step. “Don’t ask me. I don’t know either.”

“But that’s exactly it, isn’t it, you’re not special. You really are not. But then why would he even talk to you, much less live with you?”

John shrank into his chair when Jim suddenly jumped at him, his hands clawing at the armrests. His eyes were manic and he was so close that John could feel his hot breath on his skin.

Then Moriarty shouted: “You are not special!”

John had turned his head away, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine to be somewhere else, anywhere but there.

He felt the hot breath near his ear, barely a whisper: “What is it that makes him keep you around?”

John felt how the how the warmth of the other body cleared away. Slowly he turned his head back and opened his eyes again.

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know. But Sherlock is a smart man and he will have his reasons. And believe me. You will not get away with killing all these people. He will catch you and bring you to justice. I have seen him do it before.”

Jim only stared at him. John was breathing shallowly, afraid that if he made one wrong move, Jim might jump at his throat and tear it out with his teeth.

They didn’t break eye contact for what seemed like hours, although they were only minutes. Then, to John’s surprise Jim’s corners of his mouth twitched up.

He stepped back, his smile widening evermore.

“I can see it now.” His eyes seemed almost sympathetic, but there was also a pinch of pity in them.

“You are his pet. So loyal, always there to help him. Wherever Sherlock Holmes goes, Johnny boy cannot be far behind. You adore him, where everyone else hates him.”

He laughed. John was confused, but the words rang back in his head, and there was something to them. He looked after Moriarty as he left, still laughing, the room, leaving John alone to ponder over what he had just heard.

Was it true? Was this the only reason Sherlock kept him around? So that he could hear someone compliment him on how brilliant he was?

John’s brow furrowed. Would Sherlock even care if he was gone, murdered, blown up?

He didn’t know. All he knew was, that Sherlock liked to play games, too. Maybe John had slipped into this game without knowing that he wasn’t a player, but one of the game pieces. One of them, which was expendable.

He let his head hang. He was alone and had nothing to do but to wait. Something was still going to happen tonight, he didn’t know what it was, but it was going to happen. So he waited.

 

Hours went by, John had given up thinking about Sherlock, it was no use, but would only make him feel more miserable, so he decided to try and think of something else. Which resulted in him nodding off. The door being opened waked him. The same two men who had tied him to the chair were walking in, not far behind Moriarty, grinning like a maniac.

“It’s almost time. Almost midnight. Time to see your owner. We have to get you into your party outfit.”

John was blinking at the three men. With a sudden shock he realised that one of them was holding a bomb. Identical to the ones the other people had been found in. He took a deep breath, telling himself to stay calm.

“Don’t worry pet. I won’t blow you up unless I really want to.” He smiled a sickeningly sweet smile. The one who wasn’t holding the bomb was now getting to work on his bindings, releasing him.

“Hurry up. We don’t have much time.”

On one hand John was relieved that the ropes were coming off, they had done their fair bit of chafing, but on the other hand it meant that he had to put on a bomb, which was probably worse than sore wrists.

He stood up and flexed his hands to get the circulation going again.

The man who had stood watching was now stepping forward, presenting the bomb vest, holding it up so John only had to put his arms through the armholes.

He took a deep breath and reluctantly stepped forward, knowing that trying to run or to fight would only make matters worse, maybe even kill him. Who knew what Moriarty was capable of if you provoked him.

He slipped his arms through and his breath hitched as Moriarty stepped before him, pulling up the zipper, closing the vest tightly around John’s chest.

Jim looked at John, still grinning: “Are you as excited as I am?”

John chose to stay quiet, as he was given a jacket to put on over the vest. Finally the last item was an earpiece, which he had to put into his right ear. He glared at Moriarty as he took out his phone and talked into the speaker. John could hear him clearly in his ear.

“Hello pet. What I need from you now is your voice, will you lend it to me?”

John sighed.

“Say: ‘I am a good boy, and I will do as daddy says.’” The glee in Jim’s eyes was making the bile rise from John’s stomach. He couldn’t get himself to say it, he only glared back.

The smile faded from Jim’s face, making him almost grimace.

“Let’s try this again, shall we? ‘I am a good boy, and will do as daddy says.’”

John grit his teeth. He didn’t want to die just because he was stubborn.

He closed his eyes and slowly pushed every single syllable through his teeth. “I am a good boy, and will do as daddy says.”

He was furious. But fear was there as well, holding him back. He realized that it wasn’t even himself he was mainly worried about, but Sherlock. He shouldn’t have to pay for something John did.

Moriarty was grinning again. “Let the show begin then.”

The men led John in front of them, they didn’t even hold him, he knew there was no way running would save him now.

They went up some stairs and through different corridors. An odour penetrated John’s nose. Chlorine. They were close to water, a pool.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Jim’s voice in his ear. He had already forgotten. “Are you ready pet? Sherlock is waiting, let’s give him something to look at. From now on I want you to say everything that I say, clear?”

John nodded, he didn’t know if Moriarty could even see him, but apparently he knew that John would obey, since he didn’t say anything else. A hand from behind pushed him forward to walk towards a door.

He opened it, stepping through.

Sherlock Holmes, the great, looking at him over his shoulder. His one hand raised up, holding the memory stick.

“Evening.” Jim’s voice sounded in his ear. He could even hear the grin in his voice.

“Evening”, he repeated, looking at his flatmate, who was staring at him, with something that seemed like surprise and disbelief.

“This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock.” John repeated the words as they rang through his head. His eyes were trained on Sherlock, whose hand was now slowly lowering.

John hands were balled in the pockets of the jacket. It was hot.

“John. What the hell?” Sherlock’s voice was soft.

“Bet you never saw _this_ coming.” John’s heart almost broke into two as he saw Sherlock’s face. He seemed hurt, betrayed. Sherlock turns to walk towards John.

As Jim drops his next line, he can’t take it anymore. He takes his hands out of his pockets and slowly pulls away the jacket, to reveal the bomb underneath.

“What… would you like me… to make him say… next?” John could see from the corner of his eye, how a red laser starts to dance around on his chest. Sherlock was still stepping closer, but now he was looking around, searching for the sniper.

“Gottle o’geer… gottle o’geer… gottle o’geer.” John could feel his voice break on the last phrase. This was taking more out of him than he would have thought possible.

Sherlock spoke up: “Stop it.”

John was immensely glad, just to hear him say this.

As he heard Moriarty’s voice again, he narrated what was told him: “Nice touch, this: the pool where little Carl died. I stopped him.”   
As John hears the next words he has to say, he tries not to cringe: “I can stop John Watson, too.” He looked down at the bomb and the red little dot, bouncing around. Was this it? Would he die tonight? He did not know. Looking back up at the man who was his only hope he said the words.

“Stop his heart.”

 

 

 


End file.
